A running duck waddled through a meadow. Straight as a drum, its head in the air. He looked funny, like he was missing arms, and I decided to make one out of clay. But as I studied the moose more, I discovered that it is never actually alone. They hobble after each other in a large group, all going in the same direction. That's why my running duck got friends. Now there are thirty of them. Together, but all different.
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